Empowering Words
++ Nyon ++ Nyon was the capital of Cybertron during the Golden Age, the rule of Nova Prime, when energon was plentiful and the planet's population was at peace. Now, with nearby Iacon the capital of the planet, Nyon has become a ghetto, and a shell of its former self. Temples, libraries, energon refineries and places of culture have been all abandoned, left to corrode and rot away as their patrons moved to the newer, better capital city to the east. Left behind were the low caste and disposable laborers, who commute to Iacon to maintain and keep it, while being denied the privilege of its living quarters. Poverty and crime are rife here, with only minimal police presence to keep it at bay, making it a fertile breeding ground for re "Who could this be from?" was the inquiry of a mech that Swivel had just caught up to. She stood there, holding out a datapad and a small canister after confirming his identity and announcing that he had a delivery. Although it took several tries on Swivel's part to get him to fully understand what she wanted. "Na' gunna say. S'a secret!" Swivel responds with a pleasant smile. The mech raises his optic ridges as he takes the pad and reads the message. After a moment, his optic ridges raise even higher, while his optic ridges blink furiously. He glances about his person, seming a mixture of excitement and agitation. He then looks at the canister. Swivel nods to him, and hold it higher, silently bidding him to take it. He takes it, seeming apprehensive. "I.... uh.... well.... I..." the mech stammers. "Kin I 'spect a reply?" Swivel inquires. The mech blinks a few times at her, and then nods her head. "Yes, yes, of course. You can tell her I will be there! For sure. At the time and place.... oh my I can't believe... I didn't think... wow..." the mech stammers. The mech turns to find the closest reflective surface to check himself over in. Swivel leaves him at that, says a quick 'goodbye' which goes unheeded, and turns to stroll away down a less populated street. Guess who's following Swivel around again? Yep, you got it--Blurr. Even after what happened to him at the Forge last time, he's still tailing her. The fact that she'd had a job there, for Megatron, kind of encouraged that. How much does she even know, herself? Well, whatever she knows, Blurr is going to find -out-, if it's even anything at all. And thus, as Swivel makes her way down a quieter street, she might get the eerie feeling again that she is being watched. There's a shuffle here, or a scuffle there--brief, subtle movements that you thought you just -might- have only imagined...but there it is again! If Swivel is aware that she is being followed, she does not really let on. She continues to walk with a casual stroll that defies the nervous body language she had been showing in the forge. She seems perfectly at home as she crosses the street from a small group of three mechs who are likely up to no good. She nods and waves, greeting a drunken mech in the gutter by name as she goes. And finally, the petite femme stops by a door, one of many in a line of apartments. She operates the communication device and then stands there, whistling and waiting for a response from within. Blurr continues to tail her, dashing across roofs and mezzanines above until she comes to a stop in front of a door. He also stops, peering down over the edge of the building he's perched on top of to see what happens next. After waiting for a moment, the door slides open. Standing in the opening is a femme. Swivel nods and informs her that her message was safely delivered, and that the meeting will take place. The femme thanks her, hands Swivel some sort of tip, and then closes her door. With this errand done, Swivel raises her arms in the air, letting out a big sigh as she allows them to drop by her sides. She twists her torso this way and that, letting her arms be swung by the motion. From the dawdling way that she begins to make her way down yet another street, one might suspect she was done her tasks for now. She glances upwards a few times, but still doesn't otherwise make any indication of being aware of Blurr. Blurr keeps tailing her, jumping from building to building, or sometimes just walking behind her on the street. Will she ever even notice him? Shouldn't a courier be a bit more perceptive than that? After all, if not for Soundwave, she might have been in some serious trouble at the Forge the other cycle because of it. After a while and turning onto a street that isn't populated, but not necessarily dark or shady, Swivel stops. She folds her arms over her chest and glances about. "Wellum! 'Ow long ya gunna be shadowin' me?" Swivel turns and stamps one of her feet. Oh, so she -isn't- as oblivious as he thought she was. Blurr chuckles and leaps lightly down from the balcony he was perched on. "As long as I see fit." he answers, smirking. "Hello, Swivel." With her arms still crossed and her chin held high, Swivel regards Blurr with an expression of disdain. "Blurr," she returns in greeting, sounding as stiff as she can possibly muster. Perhaps even exaggeratedly so. Blurr's expression changes from a smirk to a slight pout at Swivel's stiff demeanor. "Aw, you're not still sore about that disposable, are you? Look, I'm sorry if he was a friend, but I couldn't let him blow my cover so fast." he shrugs. "Hazards of the job, you know." Swivel puts her arms out, exposing herself as vulnerable. "Ohno! Y'almost got found out. An' 'ere I was, not lettin' ya notice I noticed you 'coz I might get shot too." She re-crosses her arms and lowers her chin, her optics peering out from beneath a crest on her helmet. Blurr grins again. "Oh, good!" He sidles up to her, and puts an arm around her shoulder. "So you wanna tell me what was on that datapad, then?" So -that's- what he was after. A glare from Swivel is somewhat comical and difficult to take seriously, but she glares with all of her might in lieu of her large optics and upturned snub of a nose. She pointedly goes to brush his arm off of her shoulders while saying, "Nun'ya business." Blurr lets her brush him off, then looks hurt. "I thought you said you weren't sore about that." He sighed. "Look, I don't know why you're helping them, but the pit fights have -got- to stop. This is part of doing that. You got that?" Swivel raises her optic ridges. "I in't said nutin' t'ya since ya shot YX-452. Tha's right, I 'member 'is des'nation. You, 'oo made a deal 'bout not bein' elitist 'n all treat 'en lower 'n ya like trash 'en it suits you," Swivel accuses sourly. "I dun gota nutin' t'do with 'em fights. I dun go there 'cept 'en I gotter job, 'n it's jus' 'at. A job. i go where told, keep m'ead low, an' keep smilin..." She tags a brief smile on the end of her sentence before replacing it with the same scornful expression used prior. "Is that what you think?" Blurr shakes his head, his optics narrowing. "Don't you -get- it, Swivel? By helping them at -all-, you're encouraging the kind of savage brutality that's going on down there. I don't care if you're actually betting on the gladiators or if you're scrubbing the slag off of the floors (that's right, YX was guilty, too), you're just as guilty as the rest of them for even -supporting- them. You have the nerve to accuse me of treating those disposables like trash, and yet you don't even care that Megatron and his goons are watching people -kill- each other for -amusement-!" "Oh, so tha's what goes on in there? An 'ere I though 'ey were jus' sparrin'," Swivel remarks. "Look, I ain't s'portin' nothin' but m'self, an if y'ave a problem w'me doin' my job, try livin' down in ther gutter fer a while. I ain't got the lux'ry ta be picky 'bout what jobs I take. 'Sides, f'all I knew, it coulda been a bomb I delivered. And fer all I care, as well." Swivel throws her hands to her sides and balls her fists. "I'm a courier. I go where I'm told. 'Em dispos'bles 'ere cleaners, they go where they're ordered. If they said no? They get junked and the next set are sent instead. If all said no, soon there would be a pile of disposables, because that is just how little we value life on this planet!" Whops. It would seem in her ire that Swivel had dropped her usual speech patterns. "Well then, it sounds like -you're- included in that proverbial 'we', too." Blurr folds his arms. "You think you have the right to be angry with me for defending my own cover by killing one of those cleaner bots, and yet -you- don't give a slag if you're helping Megatron murder -thousands- of innocent people, disposable or otherwise? Ha! You're real -smart-." Rolling her shoulders, Swivel regards Blurr for a good long while. She then smiles a little and seems to relax, any agitation she had built up oozing out of her demeanor. "Felt good ter ac'shully let out m'pinion fer a change.... I'm feelin' be'er already! An' tossin' at me 'bout not bein' smart in't gonna do much good. I know I ain't smart. I ain't an upper fer a reason, yanno. Jus' rest easy I ain't en'one with any, yanno, power. Go find summun who kin ac'shully make a dif'rence and stop wastin' y'time on me, an' see 'bout doin' sumtin 'bout all 'em mechs gettin' killed." Swivel tilts her head to the side, giving Blurr a peculiar expression, as if she can hardly believe he's wasting such high talk on her. In the dingy and dirty streets of Nyon, it isn't particularly unheard of to see low casts and disposables walking around. Frankly, this slum is where a good portion of them live. Still, down the street, a manhole cover squeaks open. Out of it, a little disposable cast pulls himself out. The little bot stands by the open hole, looks in, then looks around. Is that? ... YUP. Hello, YX-939. "You're wrong. You -can- do something about it." Blurr insists. "You can tell me what was on that datapad right now. You can keep running jobs for the Forge, but report everything to me in secret. You don't have to have power, in fact, who's going to suspect someone like you, right? Fine, you might not be smart but you don't have to be. You're a capable individual with arms and legs and an alt mode. You can talk, you can think, and all the things a -person- can do." he doesn't notice YX yet. Perhaps that's a good thing. "So tell me. What did you give to Megatron." he repeats the question again, a little more slowly. Well okay, slow by -his- standards. Swivel continues to just stare at Blurr as he continues on. all very flattering and empowering words for sure, and by Swivel's face, it's actually hard, for a change, to tell what is on her mind. She is momentarily distracted when she glances towards the sound of something heavy being shifted and sees one of the cleaning crew from the Forge. At least, she hopes it is one of them. She will have to get a closer look to be sure. She then looks back at Blurr just as he asks her about the contents of the datapad. "Wellum, I kinna tell ya wha' I dunno," Swivel responds. "An' I ain't a spy. Tha's goin' 'bove my function." YX-939 mills about the open manhole cover for a few seconds. Then, some... Gunk starts to bubble up from said hole. Gray liquid the consistency of stew. 939 seems to deflate a little, but sets a little toolbox on the floor, gets on his knees, and... Reaches in. Repair and cleaning crew. Not a pretty job. Blurr finally takes notice of YX, though he doesn't acknowledge it just yet. "But all you have to do is tell me what you heard." he argues. "You don't have to go out of your way. You just keep doing what you normally do." He glances momentarily over at the cleaning bot, then back at Swivel, taking a step toward her as she insists that she doesn't know. "You sure about that?" It wasn't that long ago that Swivel was up to her elbows in similar grime. But that's aa story for another time. Swivel's main focus is Blurr the incorrigible. "Yeah, I'm sure. I dun go readin'r snoopin' through ther stuff I'm sent ter 'liver. An' I ain't 'eard anytin' 'en I was in ther Forge tha' you din' already 'ear." Swivel shrugs her shoulders. "I take m'work sir'us. If summun's sendin' live courier, 'en they dun' wan ther message t'be made public." YX-939 keeps on reaching deeper and deeper in to the muck. After a few minutes, his face is actually submerged in it. If he minds, he doesn't show it. He even reaches blindly for his tool box, picks something out of it, and... Keeps on working. Honestly, it's a surprise he's survived with this sort of obliviousness. What stands before you is a disposable class sewer bot nearly identical to all the others; in a crowd of other sewerbots, he probably wouldn't be easy to pick out. Short, on the thin side, and sporting a collection of soap scrubbers on his legs and arms, the only thing that really differentiates him from the rest is a rathr unnatractive deep orange and forest green paint job. More orange than green, and it isn't really clear if the dark shades are the actual paint or grime and dirt. Where does the dirt end and the bot begins? It's a MYSTERY. Hm. Blurr has a suspicious look on his face, as if he's not quite sure if he should believe her. He once again glances toward YX, who has his face in the muck, then back toward Swivel. Well maybe it's time to put that to the -test-. An oddly distant, nobody's-home sort of expression suddenly comes onto his face, and he dashes behind YX, moving to grab him by the head and drag him out of the muck. There's a low whine as arm-mounted weaponry emerges and is pointed at the back of the disposable's head. YX-939 flails as he's grabbed, though doesn't seem particularly surprised. In fact, as the weaponry revvs up and whines, the expression on his face -- beyond the muck, anyway -- is closer to frustrated than anything else. "I don't have any money or weapons." Monotone; rehearsed. "You can keep the tool box. I have nothing of value." Maybe he's been robbed before. Or multiple times. Hey, it's Nyon. "I'm not robbing you." Blurr answers, almost sounding equally monotone. He looks up at Swivel. "Give me the information I've requested," The demand is made, although not in a demanding tone. "Or he dies." Swivel isn't quite so sure she likes the look on Blurr's face. But she isn't quite sure what about it bothers her. She idly rubs her upper arm as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. And then, before Swivel can really react, Blurr has that poor sweeper held hostage, in a mneer of speaking. Swivel's optics widen to their full aperture, which is quite large. "I really dunno," Swivel insists firmly. "Now leave 'im 'lone, ya bully!" As Blurr Speaks, YX-939 jumps. Ooh, he remembers that voice. He even looks up in shock, just to confirm that, yup, it's THAT GUY. "Oh pit oh pit oh pit I don't know what we did to you but I really don't want to die please let go I... I...!" Oh, look, he's started to hyperventilate. Wheeeeze. "You didn't do anything to me. It isn't personal." Blurr states flatly in response to YX's question. "I just need some information, and Swivel here seems to be reluctant to give it. So maybe you can help convince her. For your own sake." He looks calmly back up to Swivel. "Stop lying," he demands, and fires his weapon at the ground near YX's feet. It might hit, it might not. "He doesn't have much time, does he?" Swivel flings open her arms. "I ain't lyin'. I dinna read th'pad!" Swivel exclaims, part in panic, and part in exasperation. "None o' this is any o' my bus'ness. Go find yer answers from summon 'oo knows sumtin'!" YX-939 lets out a fearful, high pitches squeal at the blast that nearly hits his foot. Nearly; it was a pretty close call, though. The floor is singed a little. The poor disposable is shaking hyperventalating and otherwise a big blubbering mess. Blurr glares at Swivel for a while, but finally seems to be convinced that she -really- doesn't know. He tosses YX aside, dropping him back into the mud where he had been. "Yes, it's none of your business Swivel. Until it's you in the line fire. You're so quick to accuse me and everyone else on the face of this planet of devaluing life, yet you yourself don't care for any but your own, isn't that true?" Relief washes over Swivel as YX-939 no longer seems to be in danger. For the time being. "I care 'bout me an' th'peeps I know. There ain't 'nuff o' me t'care fer e'ryone in this world. But I respect life. And I ain't th'one killin' peeps ter save m'own 'ide. If ya wanner criticize me morals, show me what they oughtter be, dun tell me one thin' 'en do 'nuther. Til I see ya show respect e'en fer disposables, I'm gonna goin' on thinkin' yer jus' as bad as anyone else killin' fer what they believe in." YX-939 flops right in to the puddle of muck with an audible splash; not that he could get any more dirty at this stage. Still, YX-939 pulls himself out, spits some of it out, and then gets up... Only to look conflicted. Looks to the sewer grate. Backs away from Blurr. Argh, he had a job to do...! "But you would, because you'd deliver a bomb right into the wrong hands, and you wouldn't even give a slag. You said it yourself. And how can you expect me to care about those disposables if you don't even expect -yourself- to care about anyone but you and your friends?" Blurr argues. "You would effectively be helping them slaughter millions, just for your own sake. How that makes you any more 'righteous' than me, I don't know...you expect other people to care, but you don't expect it from yourself? That's hardly fair." Perhaps laughter might not be the best response. But that is Swivel's next response. She laughs, and laughs, and laughs. She glances over to make sure 939 is more or less alright, still giggling a bit. Then she sobers up. "Blurr. My morals ain't gonna changer th'world. An I ain't sayin' I'm more righteous. But..." she frowns. "When we met an' you was all nice an' chummy, I wanted to b'lieve in ya. But 'en ya turn 'round and act like this. Look, Blurr, you dun realise us lower caste dun 'ave ther lux'ry ter 'flect oner morals. I do what I 'ave ta survive. You dun 'ave th'same struggles, anner free to /be/ a better mech. So be it. Dun take it fer granted." YX-939 takes a final look between the Terror That Is Blurr and the manhole cover. Then, he dives in to the muck. Down in to the sewer. Aaand... He doesn't come back. Well, it was the way he came; presumably, he would've left that way anyway. Ah, she laughs at him? How insensitive. She has no idea. Literally -no- idea. Blurr sighs. "So you think -I- should care, just because you think I have an easier life than you? Because you think I've had it served to me on a platter the entire time, and I've never had to experience any kind of real pain? You've had a rough life, so that's your excuse not to care about anyone's skidplate but your own and your friends, yet you expect -other- people to?" he shakes his head. "See, -this-? This is why I don't trust lower castes. This is -exactly- why I killed that one mech at the Forge. You all feel so terribly sorry for yourselves, that you imagine everyone else who looks richer than you must be a comfortable snob who's had it perfect ever since they were brought into existence. You act so self-righteous but do you really care about anyone but yourselves? No. It's no wonder you're treated like trash, because you -act- like it. Sorry Swivel, but you can't not practice what you preach and expect to get sympathy from people. Certainly not -me-." There is a long silence from Swivel after Blurr's speech. She then smiles and claps her hands. "Wellum, gotcha!" Swivel chimes in, as if she had just tagged him in some child's game. She seems to be pleased about something, but doesn't elaborate. 'Wellum, I dun think there's much more t'say, now. Might as well part ways." She surreptitiously taps something on her wrist and turns to leave. There's a slight pause as she turns away, but suddenly Blurr rushes forward and grabs her wrist. "Swivel, wait!" he calls out, his demeanor suddenly changing. "I didn't mean--" Beneath Blurr's fingers it feels almost as if something, oerhaps a button, depressed as he gripped her wrist. Swivel looks at him levelly, and then slowly tilts her head. "Wocha? What dinya mean?" Swivel does not sound at all hostile this time around She sounds genuinely curious. "I...I...." Blurr stammers strangely, as if he can't get the words out of his vocal synth. "...Ididn'twantto...Ididn'twantokillhim..." Presumably he means poor little 452 back at the Forge. He stares at the ground. "I'msorryI'msorry..." There are a lot of strange mechs and femmes with a lot of strange quirks, so this dynamic change in personality and speech patterns doesn't seem terribly strange to Swivel. Only a little strange. Swivel reaches out with her free hand to place it upon Blurr's shoulder. "I'm sure you are," Swivel responds, and doesn't sound the least bit sarcastic or patronising. "An' pay no 'eed t'wot I was sayin' 'bout morals. I was jus' throwin' e'ryone else's 'pinions out 'ere coz I really han't any idea where I stand." "Butbut...Ican'tstopit!" Blurr replies, distressed. "I can't..." There is a small, yet sharp blade or maybe a piece of debris in his hand, perhaps he had picked off of the ground earlier. And he's using it to tear a long gash in his own side? Fuel oozes out of the wound, yet he doesn't even seem aware of it. "Swivelhelp..." Strength is one of those things Swivel is lacking. Nonetheless she attempts to grab a hold of the hand of Blurr's which seems to be cutting himself and pull it away from his side. The sight of the wound and the liquid it oozes does not seem to faze the femme in the least. "Just what am I supposed to do?" Now was time to try really hard to speak clearly. "Ya need help I can't give you." Still, she tries to keep him from doing any further harm to himself. She tilts her head at an odd angle, as if trying to be able to press her lips against her own shoulder, and she mutters something inaudible. "Idon'tknow..." Blurr admits, still staring at the ground. But he drops the makeshift blade as she pulls his hand away. "I-I'msorryyou'reright." The racer steps back, away from her. "Ishouldn'taskyouIkilledyourfriend...I-I'llleavenowI'llleaveyoualone." Tighter does Swivel's feeble grip get as he tries to pull away. "Uh-uh, I ain't the sort to let 'urt people go off on their own in dangerous places like Nyon. I can't help you, but I can at least find someone who will. We'll just call this the friendly Nyon neighbourly spirit!" Swivel says with a light tone, trying to add some levity to the situation. She keeps her purple optics as focused on Blurr's optics as much as possible. She brings one free hand up to her mouth. "" After receiving the call, Panacea says that she'll be on her way. And so, she is. She's not the fastest vehicle out there, or even the third fastest, so it will take some time. Hopefully, it will be quick enough. Blurr stares at her. "I...thought you wouldn't care about me." He's certainly not a friend, is he? "Eh, I spouted a lotta nonesense, but I wun lying when I said I respect life." Swivel continues to maintain optic contact. "Doesn't matter if I care 'bout you or not. Doesn't matter if I care 'bout all of Cybertron or not. I'm doin' what I am doin' and it is what it is." Hang in there injured person! Panacea is coming! Though it's interesting that it was for entertainment that the world's fastest vehicle was created, and not for emergencies. It's not ironic, but it's something. Blurr stares right back into Swivel's optics as she looks into his own. He looks...almost like a lost and confused child, despite everything. In spite of all those lofty words, and -threats-. There is an almost calm smile on Swivel's face. Her actions may certainly not add up with what she had said, but then again, actions do speak louder than words. Which was what Swivel had tried to point out to Blurr several times during his lofty speeches and threats. Although despite the smile, there is a certain distance in the femme's optics. Nonetheless, she keeps continual optic contact until help arrives. Then Blurr can be someone else's problem. And Someone Else has arrived. Finally. Swivel will recognize the strange, flat-backed vehicle with the bars on the side. Panacea turns around when she gets close so she can back up towards the patient. As she slows into place, the back of the cab sprouts its mechanical arms, currently equipped with the flat pannels used to lift the wounded. From the top of the cab comes a scope and through this Panacea oversees her progress. "Dear me, what happened this time? You have a positive talent for being around people when they need help," she emits to Swivel. Maintaining a hold on Blurr, Swivel turns her head to address Panacea. "Dunno really..." Swivel begins to explain as she looks back to Blurr for a moment, and then back to Panacea and continues, "we was havin' words, 'en 'e suddenly changed minds 'er sumtin an' started cuttin' himself." She points to the gash on the mech's side. "See? 'E did that to 'imself." Swivel returns her attention to Blurr. "'Ere now, summun' better 'quipped ta 'elp ya." When Panacea arrives, Blurr seems to snap out of it and pull away from Swivel. He suddenly gets -that- blank look on his face again, as if no one is home. "No," he shakes his head. "I can't allow you to repair me." Odd, hadn't he only -just- been begging her for help? And before either of them can protest, he runs off, disappearing in a flash and a blur of blue motion. It doesn't take much for Blurr to slip out of Swivel's grasp, and once he's gone, Swivel knows there's no use chasing him. She just stands there with wide optics, a bit stunned at the quick recovery. Or is it a relapse? Swivel is dumbfounded for a moment, and then she kicks at the ground. "Pits. Th'eck wuzzat?" Swivel turns to look at Panacea a little sheepish now. "Er... sorry fer wastin' yer time..." "I was just about to ask you the same thing," says Panacea, transforming now that her vehicular mode is no longer necessary. She gives Swivel a rather bemused shrug. "Bit of an odd one, isn't he?" She sighs. "I don't know why some mechs are so touchy about being fixed." She utters a sigh of exasperation. Swivel joins in this sigh of exasperation. "'Ell, tha' mech needs 'elp, an' I mean mor'n justa fixin'." Of course, there are several of Swivel's acquaintences that she could apply that statement to. Swivel crosses one arm over the other, and then discretely glances towards a nearby manhole. "Wellum...." Panacea laughs and shakes her head. "I think that's just part of living around here. Or, well, pretty much anywhere right now come to think of it." She shrugs again. "All this talk of war, war, war, war is infecting everyone's processors." Swivel nods her head while watching the manhole. After a while, and seeing no movement, she glances back to Panacea. "Yeah, seems t'be the topic of ther linar cycle," Swivel says with another sigh. She then shrugs and smiles. "Well.... I best get m'self 'charged an' ready ter look fer work. Sorry 'gain 'bout wastin' yer time." Panacea waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it; I'd rather be called away and have the person run off than to be not called and end up with a dead mech," she says. "Take care of yourself." And then she turns to wander off again.